Joseph's Story
Sermon
Together In Christ
Sermons and Prayers For the Christian Year
I am the forgotten person in the Christmas story. Oh sure, you all have little statues of me in your creche scenes at home and you set them out every year at Christmas time, but let's face it: people who look at your creche are looking at the Christ Child and His mother - they're not paying much attention to me. Even the shepherds and Wise Men (and a little drummer boy who wasn't even there) had pretty Christmas carols written about them, but not me! I truly am the forgotten person in the story.
My name is Joseph; I am the father of Jesus. Well, not exactly, I'm more like His stepfather, since Jesus wasn't conceived in the usual way, which took quite some getting used to on my part, not to mention Mary's! But more on that in a minute.
First, let me tell you a bit about my family. Families were terribly important in my culture; I hope they still are in yours.
My father's name was Jacob, who traced his ancestry through some famous names in Jewish history, like Solomon and Josiah and the great King David. In fact, your Scriptures trace my family all the way back to Abraham (Matthew 1) and even to Adam and Eve (Luke 3). My father taught me to be proud of my heritage and to pass on our family traditions of service to others and faith in God to my children. I tried my best to give them that legacy.
In case you are wondering: yes, Mary and I did have other children - Jesus grew up with younger brothers and sisters (Mark 6:3, Matthew 13:55). In fact, we had a rather large family. One of Jesus' brothers was named Judas, which was quite a popular name in Israel at the time. I thought it was ironic that years later another man named Judas would turn out to be my son's betrayer.
I spent my life as a carpenter, making a lot of different things for the homes of Nazareth - everything from tables and benches to door and window frames, even broom handles and cradles. I liked the variety of jobs and always had work to do.
I also did a lot of work for the local farmers who needed yokes for their oxen. Those were fairly quick and easy to make, but I taught my sons to take pride in even the simplest jobs. Good carpentry requires great care and careful measurements; even a yoke, for example, has to fit the oxen snugly without chafing their necks. I know that Jesus in particular took this to heart, because years later, when He was a grown man, He said to people, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30). I smiled with pride when I heard Jesus had said that, because I knew He had learned about yokes from me.
Well, enough about my family and my work. You are probably more interested in hearing about the Christmas story and I won't disappoint you. I'll tell you how Jesus was born. It happened like the Bible says it did, but what amazes me as I look back on it is how close it came to not happening that way at all.
I was betrothed to Mary, which in your modern terminology, was more than an engagement but less than a marriage. We were promised to be married and, in fact, we later were married, but our wedding day was still months away on the night Jesus was born.
One day Mary came to me with news which almost undid all of our plans. She told me she was pregnant and that she wanted to go through with our marriage anyway. I didn't know what to say.
Your gospel of Mathew says that I "resolved to divorce her quietly" because I was a "just" man. The word means that I was fair, and also that I took care to follow the law. The law allowed me to divorce her, and I thought if I was quiet about it, I could spare Mary at least some of the embarrassment and ridicule which were sure to come. Your society seems almost casual about teen-aged girls becoming unwed mothers. In my society, it was a matter of grave concern and great shame.
But it was more than the law and the shame that made me want to divorce her. There was also the hurt and the sense of betrayal. How could I have been so wrong about someone? True, Mary was very young, and I didn't know her all that well, but she seemed like a dependable and righteous girl. She seemed religious; in fact, she seemed extraordinarily spiritual. Our families had known each other for years and my parents had assured me I was marrying a fine young woman who would make a wonderful wife.
Mary doggedly insisted from the beginning that she was still a virgin, despite all appearances to the contrary. She invoked her honor and swore by all that was holy that she had not betrayed my trust. To be honest with you, none of it made any sense.
I thought about her preposterous story. I thought about the law and the stern rebukes of the teachers. I thought about the neighbors shaking their heads in disapproval as I walked by. I thought about Mary and how disappointed I was in her. I wanted to scream; I wanted to cry. I wanted to divorce her.
Then one night, I had a dream, a vision from God. An angel of the Lord appeared to me and told me not to be afraid to take Mary as my wife. Her fantastic story was true; this Child within her really had been conceived by the Holy Spirit. I tell you: my whole attitude was changed that night. Whereas once I was angry and feeling sorry for myself, now I felt blessed. Now I knew that my life had a much greater purpose than any I had ever imagined.
In fact, it dawned on me that night that I was being chosen, too! Everyone talks about how God chose Mary to be the mother of Jesus, but in choosing her, God also chose me. God chose someone to raise His son, a simple man named Joseph who would go ahead and do God's will, even when it was difficult and dangerous to do so.
Of course, none of this made my neighbors and friends any more tolerant or understanding. They laughed and ridiculed me to no end. "Sure, Joseph," they said, "of course she got pregnant by the Holy Spirit. It happens all the time! Is that the best story she could give you? Come on, Joseph," my friends said amid peals of laughter, "face the facts: your child will be illegitimate and this girl you say you love so much is just a tramp."
Their laughter hurt, but as I thought more about this Holy Spirit business, it began to make more sense to me. How else could it happen? How else could God come into the world? Jesus was both "fully human and fully divine." Because He was fully human, He had to be born from a mother's womb. But because He was also fully divine, He couldn't be born of mere flesh and blood; He had to be conceived directly of God! It couldn't be any other way.
You see, the real mystery of Christmas is not the mechanics of how Jesus was born - it is understanding who He is. Jesus is fully human and Jesus is fully God. Two statements that appear to be contradictory both are true. Push either one of them too hard and you lose the mystery of Christmas. I wanted to keep that mystery and that is the wisdom I finally gained concerning the nature of this Child, which I now pass along to you.
Mary and I talked about this a lot as we waited for her time to come, but in spite of all our conversation, neither of us were prepared for what lay ahead. I mean: everything about this birth was hard! I guess we figured God would take care of us, since this was His only begotten Son we were entrusted with. God did take care of us, of course, but not in the way we had imagined.
You know about our journey to Bethlehem. Caesar's order to enroll in a census and pay a tax couldn't have come at a worse time, since Mary was nearly ready to deliver. For her, it was a long, bumpy ride of ninety miles up and down the rugged hillside on a donkey's back, and despite my best efforts to steady the animal, Mary with her swollen womb felt every rock and rut in the road.
You also know that once we reached Bethlehem, we couldn't find a room to rent. Every inn was full, or the landlords had raised their rents beyond our means because of the heavy demand for lodging. Finally, when it was late in the day and Mary could wait no longer, someone took pity on us and told us about a group of caves up the hill on the outskirts of town. It was a place for poor and homeless people and migrants passing through. It wasn't much, we were told, but by then, we were grateful for anything.
I'm afraid your Christmas carols and Christmas card pictures have given you a rather antiseptic, romantic view of the place and manner of Jesus' birth. Let me tell you how it really was.
The first thing we noticed upon entering the cave was the smell. The stench was overwhelming, since the people who used these caves kept their animals with them in order to stay warm. Scattered on the rough, dirty floor of the cave were piles of hay, and in the center was a manger, a feeding trough for the cattle.
Mary's labor had already begun. I lit a fire to ward off the cold, drew some water and tried to comfort my betrothed. I kept busy, but I felt a certain helplessness all the same, since this was something Mary could only do for herself. I guess every father has felt that way when watching the birth of his child.
Mary's labor wore on into the night, and any woman who has ever given birth can imagine what she went through. But you must remember: she had none of the painkillers, fetal monitors or other conveniences you modern parents expect today. No, my Mary was on her own in that dark, dank cave, amid the cattle and the hay.
The time drew closer and Mary convulsed in spasms of agony. Her loud cries pierced the night, and pierced my heart as well. She called out my name and words from the Book of Genesis flashed through my mind as I answered her: "In pain you shall bring forth your children, yet your desire shall be for your husband" (3:16).
Finally, the moment came, and the Baby Jesus appeared. Mary's blood mingled with the hay as she slumped back and sighed in relief. Quickly, we washed the Baby and rubbed Him with salt (as was our custom at the time); then we placed Him diagonally in swaddling clothes, wrapped Him up and laid Him in the crude, wooden manger. I looked at Him intently, studying His face. There He was! There, amid the stench and the straw, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, God's only begotten Son was born.
We didn't know it at the moment, but we were soon to find out that the drama of Jesus' birth reached far beyond the confines of that little cave. Our first clue came with a visit from some shepherds, who had been keeping watch over their flocks in a nearby field - the very same field, by the way, where my ancestor, King David, had tended sheep when he was a young boy in Bethlehem.
The shepherds were talking so fast and excitedly we could hardly understand them. They spoke of a fantastic light which came upon the midnight clear, and how they fell to the ground in fear. Their eyes sparkled and their rough, weatherbeaten faces glowed in the firelight as they spoke of angels bending near the earth, and they carefully repeated every word the angels had said.
Then came the three wise men, three men of wealth and prominence from a far country in the east. They, too, came to worship this Child ... our Child! They brought precious gifts, and you should have seen their magnificent clothes! They couldn't have presented a greater contrast with the poor shepherds who stood beside them.
When I asked the wise men how they could possibly have known about Jesus, they took me outside the cave and showed me a bright, new star which had appeared in the sky directly over our heads. Suddenly I felt humbled and insignificant, a very small part of a divine drama which reached through time and all the way to heaven.
After our visitors had left, Mary and I lay down in the straw, with the Baby asleep in the manger. I looked at her face and saw a wry smile; I knew she was keeping all she had seen and heard that night, and was pondering them in her heart (Luke 2:19).
Perhaps, like me, she was struck by the incongruity and mystery of it all. Perhaps, like me, she was remembering with a warm glow the simple shepherds, the sophisticated wise men and the talk of stars and angels. Perhaps, like me, she was marvelling at the strange purposes of God, that He would reveal His power and glory in a rude and lowly manger.
Even with the discomfort and danger, even with the pain and perplexity, even with the stench and straw in that cold, crude cave, it truly was a silent, holy night. The stars were shining brightly, bathing the world in love's pure light. It was a night for the ages. I hope I've conveyed that to you. I hope I've touched your imaginations today and given you at least some sense of that first Noel - the way it was, in all its humble majesty.
When you leave here this morning, and if you have a creche at home, take a close look at it. Take your figure of Joseph out from the background and place it a little closer to the Baby and His mother. Yes, it was certainly Jesus' story, and without a doubt, it was Mary's story. But it was Joseph's story, too. Amen
Pastoral Prayer
Most Faithful and Steadfast God, whose will and purposes in the world are true and righteous altogether, we thank You this day for the place of Joseph in the blessed story of our dear Savior's birth. We thank You for his example of steadfast love and trust in Mary, that we may give our own loved ones those same precious gifts today. We thank You for the way Joseph heard Your word and obeyed, that we may display that same devotion in our own lives. We thank You for choosing him, a simple ordinary carpenter from Nazareth, that his example may show that even ordinary people like us can be chosen by You to do Your will on earth. In Jesus' name. Amen
My name is Joseph; I am the father of Jesus. Well, not exactly, I'm more like His stepfather, since Jesus wasn't conceived in the usual way, which took quite some getting used to on my part, not to mention Mary's! But more on that in a minute.
First, let me tell you a bit about my family. Families were terribly important in my culture; I hope they still are in yours.
My father's name was Jacob, who traced his ancestry through some famous names in Jewish history, like Solomon and Josiah and the great King David. In fact, your Scriptures trace my family all the way back to Abraham (Matthew 1) and even to Adam and Eve (Luke 3). My father taught me to be proud of my heritage and to pass on our family traditions of service to others and faith in God to my children. I tried my best to give them that legacy.
In case you are wondering: yes, Mary and I did have other children - Jesus grew up with younger brothers and sisters (Mark 6:3, Matthew 13:55). In fact, we had a rather large family. One of Jesus' brothers was named Judas, which was quite a popular name in Israel at the time. I thought it was ironic that years later another man named Judas would turn out to be my son's betrayer.
I spent my life as a carpenter, making a lot of different things for the homes of Nazareth - everything from tables and benches to door and window frames, even broom handles and cradles. I liked the variety of jobs and always had work to do.
I also did a lot of work for the local farmers who needed yokes for their oxen. Those were fairly quick and easy to make, but I taught my sons to take pride in even the simplest jobs. Good carpentry requires great care and careful measurements; even a yoke, for example, has to fit the oxen snugly without chafing their necks. I know that Jesus in particular took this to heart, because years later, when He was a grown man, He said to people, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Matthew 11:28-30). I smiled with pride when I heard Jesus had said that, because I knew He had learned about yokes from me.
Well, enough about my family and my work. You are probably more interested in hearing about the Christmas story and I won't disappoint you. I'll tell you how Jesus was born. It happened like the Bible says it did, but what amazes me as I look back on it is how close it came to not happening that way at all.
I was betrothed to Mary, which in your modern terminology, was more than an engagement but less than a marriage. We were promised to be married and, in fact, we later were married, but our wedding day was still months away on the night Jesus was born.
One day Mary came to me with news which almost undid all of our plans. She told me she was pregnant and that she wanted to go through with our marriage anyway. I didn't know what to say.
Your gospel of Mathew says that I "resolved to divorce her quietly" because I was a "just" man. The word means that I was fair, and also that I took care to follow the law. The law allowed me to divorce her, and I thought if I was quiet about it, I could spare Mary at least some of the embarrassment and ridicule which were sure to come. Your society seems almost casual about teen-aged girls becoming unwed mothers. In my society, it was a matter of grave concern and great shame.
But it was more than the law and the shame that made me want to divorce her. There was also the hurt and the sense of betrayal. How could I have been so wrong about someone? True, Mary was very young, and I didn't know her all that well, but she seemed like a dependable and righteous girl. She seemed religious; in fact, she seemed extraordinarily spiritual. Our families had known each other for years and my parents had assured me I was marrying a fine young woman who would make a wonderful wife.
Mary doggedly insisted from the beginning that she was still a virgin, despite all appearances to the contrary. She invoked her honor and swore by all that was holy that she had not betrayed my trust. To be honest with you, none of it made any sense.
I thought about her preposterous story. I thought about the law and the stern rebukes of the teachers. I thought about the neighbors shaking their heads in disapproval as I walked by. I thought about Mary and how disappointed I was in her. I wanted to scream; I wanted to cry. I wanted to divorce her.
Then one night, I had a dream, a vision from God. An angel of the Lord appeared to me and told me not to be afraid to take Mary as my wife. Her fantastic story was true; this Child within her really had been conceived by the Holy Spirit. I tell you: my whole attitude was changed that night. Whereas once I was angry and feeling sorry for myself, now I felt blessed. Now I knew that my life had a much greater purpose than any I had ever imagined.
In fact, it dawned on me that night that I was being chosen, too! Everyone talks about how God chose Mary to be the mother of Jesus, but in choosing her, God also chose me. God chose someone to raise His son, a simple man named Joseph who would go ahead and do God's will, even when it was difficult and dangerous to do so.
Of course, none of this made my neighbors and friends any more tolerant or understanding. They laughed and ridiculed me to no end. "Sure, Joseph," they said, "of course she got pregnant by the Holy Spirit. It happens all the time! Is that the best story she could give you? Come on, Joseph," my friends said amid peals of laughter, "face the facts: your child will be illegitimate and this girl you say you love so much is just a tramp."
Their laughter hurt, but as I thought more about this Holy Spirit business, it began to make more sense to me. How else could it happen? How else could God come into the world? Jesus was both "fully human and fully divine." Because He was fully human, He had to be born from a mother's womb. But because He was also fully divine, He couldn't be born of mere flesh and blood; He had to be conceived directly of God! It couldn't be any other way.
You see, the real mystery of Christmas is not the mechanics of how Jesus was born - it is understanding who He is. Jesus is fully human and Jesus is fully God. Two statements that appear to be contradictory both are true. Push either one of them too hard and you lose the mystery of Christmas. I wanted to keep that mystery and that is the wisdom I finally gained concerning the nature of this Child, which I now pass along to you.
Mary and I talked about this a lot as we waited for her time to come, but in spite of all our conversation, neither of us were prepared for what lay ahead. I mean: everything about this birth was hard! I guess we figured God would take care of us, since this was His only begotten Son we were entrusted with. God did take care of us, of course, but not in the way we had imagined.
You know about our journey to Bethlehem. Caesar's order to enroll in a census and pay a tax couldn't have come at a worse time, since Mary was nearly ready to deliver. For her, it was a long, bumpy ride of ninety miles up and down the rugged hillside on a donkey's back, and despite my best efforts to steady the animal, Mary with her swollen womb felt every rock and rut in the road.
You also know that once we reached Bethlehem, we couldn't find a room to rent. Every inn was full, or the landlords had raised their rents beyond our means because of the heavy demand for lodging. Finally, when it was late in the day and Mary could wait no longer, someone took pity on us and told us about a group of caves up the hill on the outskirts of town. It was a place for poor and homeless people and migrants passing through. It wasn't much, we were told, but by then, we were grateful for anything.
I'm afraid your Christmas carols and Christmas card pictures have given you a rather antiseptic, romantic view of the place and manner of Jesus' birth. Let me tell you how it really was.
The first thing we noticed upon entering the cave was the smell. The stench was overwhelming, since the people who used these caves kept their animals with them in order to stay warm. Scattered on the rough, dirty floor of the cave were piles of hay, and in the center was a manger, a feeding trough for the cattle.
Mary's labor had already begun. I lit a fire to ward off the cold, drew some water and tried to comfort my betrothed. I kept busy, but I felt a certain helplessness all the same, since this was something Mary could only do for herself. I guess every father has felt that way when watching the birth of his child.
Mary's labor wore on into the night, and any woman who has ever given birth can imagine what she went through. But you must remember: she had none of the painkillers, fetal monitors or other conveniences you modern parents expect today. No, my Mary was on her own in that dark, dank cave, amid the cattle and the hay.
The time drew closer and Mary convulsed in spasms of agony. Her loud cries pierced the night, and pierced my heart as well. She called out my name and words from the Book of Genesis flashed through my mind as I answered her: "In pain you shall bring forth your children, yet your desire shall be for your husband" (3:16).
Finally, the moment came, and the Baby Jesus appeared. Mary's blood mingled with the hay as she slumped back and sighed in relief. Quickly, we washed the Baby and rubbed Him with salt (as was our custom at the time); then we placed Him diagonally in swaddling clothes, wrapped Him up and laid Him in the crude, wooden manger. I looked at Him intently, studying His face. There He was! There, amid the stench and the straw, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, God's only begotten Son was born.
We didn't know it at the moment, but we were soon to find out that the drama of Jesus' birth reached far beyond the confines of that little cave. Our first clue came with a visit from some shepherds, who had been keeping watch over their flocks in a nearby field - the very same field, by the way, where my ancestor, King David, had tended sheep when he was a young boy in Bethlehem.
The shepherds were talking so fast and excitedly we could hardly understand them. They spoke of a fantastic light which came upon the midnight clear, and how they fell to the ground in fear. Their eyes sparkled and their rough, weatherbeaten faces glowed in the firelight as they spoke of angels bending near the earth, and they carefully repeated every word the angels had said.
Then came the three wise men, three men of wealth and prominence from a far country in the east. They, too, came to worship this Child ... our Child! They brought precious gifts, and you should have seen their magnificent clothes! They couldn't have presented a greater contrast with the poor shepherds who stood beside them.
When I asked the wise men how they could possibly have known about Jesus, they took me outside the cave and showed me a bright, new star which had appeared in the sky directly over our heads. Suddenly I felt humbled and insignificant, a very small part of a divine drama which reached through time and all the way to heaven.
After our visitors had left, Mary and I lay down in the straw, with the Baby asleep in the manger. I looked at her face and saw a wry smile; I knew she was keeping all she had seen and heard that night, and was pondering them in her heart (Luke 2:19).
Perhaps, like me, she was struck by the incongruity and mystery of it all. Perhaps, like me, she was remembering with a warm glow the simple shepherds, the sophisticated wise men and the talk of stars and angels. Perhaps, like me, she was marvelling at the strange purposes of God, that He would reveal His power and glory in a rude and lowly manger.
Even with the discomfort and danger, even with the pain and perplexity, even with the stench and straw in that cold, crude cave, it truly was a silent, holy night. The stars were shining brightly, bathing the world in love's pure light. It was a night for the ages. I hope I've conveyed that to you. I hope I've touched your imaginations today and given you at least some sense of that first Noel - the way it was, in all its humble majesty.
When you leave here this morning, and if you have a creche at home, take a close look at it. Take your figure of Joseph out from the background and place it a little closer to the Baby and His mother. Yes, it was certainly Jesus' story, and without a doubt, it was Mary's story. But it was Joseph's story, too. Amen
Pastoral Prayer
Most Faithful and Steadfast God, whose will and purposes in the world are true and righteous altogether, we thank You this day for the place of Joseph in the blessed story of our dear Savior's birth. We thank You for his example of steadfast love and trust in Mary, that we may give our own loved ones those same precious gifts today. We thank You for the way Joseph heard Your word and obeyed, that we may display that same devotion in our own lives. We thank You for choosing him, a simple ordinary carpenter from Nazareth, that his example may show that even ordinary people like us can be chosen by You to do Your will on earth. In Jesus' name. Amen
